AFTERWARDS, BEFORE SHE’D LEARNED the trick of blanking that final weekend from her mind, Kate sometimes wondered if she and Mario had known they would only have a single night together. It seemed as if a whole courtship had been packed into those few hours, hours too precious to waste in sleep. They learned a hundred different things about each other, secrets of touch and taste and dreams, and the endless lovers’ pleasure in talking about nothing at all. If Kate had imagined having sex with Mario she’d have expected him to be the experienced older man, initiating her into pleasures she’d not known before. But when they made love for the second time, just before dawn, they were two travellers, exploring new territory together.
‘Is soon morning,’ he said, as they lay back against the pillows, her head in the crook of his shoulder. ‘Now you must go.’
‘Yes, I know.’ But she didn’t move. ‘What happens next, Mario?’
‘In the morning we say goodbye to the Bertonis,’ he told her, ‘and I take you to Florence.’
‘Will you be sad to leave them?’
He only hesitated for a moment before saying, ‘No, Kate, I think now maybe I will be happy. Very happy to go. You make me happy.’
By the time the sky was beginning to turn pale and she reluctantly tiptoed back to her own room and her neatly made bed, Kate felt as though not just her world, but that she herself had been turned upside down. She was no longer the same Kate Holland who had turned up at the Villa Beatrice two days before. She was in love, properly in love, for the first time in her life.
She thought it would be impossible to sleep, that she’d just get under the covers so the bed looked as though it had been slept in, but when she came to the sun was high in the sky and the air was full of the discordant clanging of bells from villages far and near. It was her first Sunday morning in the Italian countryside, bells out of sync and out of tune and yet harmonious. She got out of bed and flung back the window and drank in the scents and sounds of the morning. The mist was thinning already, a few trails following the line of the river, and the sun was warm against her face. She’d never known it was possible to be so happy.
When she heard the bathroom door open and close for a second time, she pulled on her borrowed silk dressing gown and went out into the corridor. Mario was there, about to go into the bathroom. Never was a man so attractive to her eyes as Mario in his striped pyjamas and leather slippers, with a towel over his arm and a sponge bag in his hand.
‘Ciao, Mario. Did you sleep well?’
‘Ciao, Kate,’ he said softly. ‘I did not sleep so much, I don’t know why.’ But when she padded over to put her arms round him, he held her away and whispered, ‘Are you crazy, Kate? Suppose we are see?’
‘Then Signora Bertoni will think I’m a fallen woman and will drive me out into the snow,’ she teased. ‘But that’s okay by me. I don’t care about her.’
‘Signora Bertoni is not problem. But—hm—Francesca…’
‘So? You said this was nothing to do with her.’
‘Yes, but Francesca is a nervous temperament. This place is not good for her and she is jealous for her friends. We tell her later, in Florence, maybe. Is better this way.’
‘If you say so,’ Kate agreed reluctantly. ‘But I’m not very good at secrets.’
‘I know.’ At last his eyes mellowed into a smile. ‘You are wonderful without secret. Is why I love you.’
It was the only time he said the words. Hardly the most romantic scenario, standing in the corridor in the morning chill, fending her off with a sponge bag and towel. Afterwards Kate wondered if he’d really said those words, or if she’d imagined them.
‘When can we be together again?’ she asked him.
‘Soon. We will leave and I drive you to Firenze.’
‘What about Francesca?’
‘I think she will not leave her family while Simona is here. She love her sister too much.’
Kate felt a guilty pleasure that she’d be leaving alone with Mario. But Francesca was busy with Simona, and not interested in Mario any more, she was sure of it. And right now, Kate didn’t want anything to come between them, even for a short time.
She was convinced when she went downstairs that her jubilation was so intense it must be shining from every pore, and they’d all want to know the reason, but she was wrong. That Sunday morning everyone at the Villa Beatrice was so caught up in their own private dramas she would have needed to sprout wings and fly into the dining room before any alteration was noticed. Apart from Signor Bertoni, who seemed armour-plated against all the emotional currents that eddied round him, only the painted nymphs and gods cavorting on the dining-room walls were unaffected.
Francesca and Simona, outwardly demure in their twinsets and straight skirts, were fizzing with suppressed excitement. Simona’s was the nervous kind, like someone about to go on a terrifying fairground ride for the first time, but Francesca had been transformed overnight from the miserable creature who sat hunched and silent through supper. She radiated energy, laughing and joking and teasing Simona with affection, until Signora Bertoni gestured for them to be quieter.
‘Girls, girls,’ she said, lighting another cigarette. ‘Less noise, please. My head…’
‘Do you have a migraine, Mamma?’ asked Francesca, sweet as pie.
‘Yes. I did not sleep…’ She put her fingers to her forehead with a weary gesture. Her face was grey and haggard, dark circles round her eyes as she sipped black coffee and refused to eat.
The windows were open and a cool breeze that smelt of spring was gently shifting the curtains. Down in the valley a cock crowed.
‘You should have stayed in bed, Mamma,’ said Francesca, with a solicitude that should have instantly aroused suspicion. ‘Simona and I would have brought you breakfast on a tray.’
Signora Bertoni didn’t reply. Her forehead was deeply furrowed and she rested her head on her hand, occasionally tugging at the side of her cheek as she gazed with her pale eyes almost dreamily towards Kate.
If she hadn’t been so full of the glow of loving Mario, Kate might have felt uneasy at the way Signora Bertoni was staring at her. She remembered the feel of her thin hands against her throat the night before when she’d talked about that necklace. And she had no idea why Francesca and Simona were so nervily excited. This whole family was absorbed in some secret, intricate dance which made her more impatient than ever to get away from the Villa Beatrice. She said, ‘Signora Bertoni, Mario and I will be driving back to Florence this morning. It’s been very kind of you to have me stay.’
Signora Bertoni’s frown deepened. ‘So soon?’
‘Yes.’ Kate wondered why the woman bothered pretending to mind.
‘What time are you leaving?’ asked Francesca.
Kate caught Mario’s eye. He nodded imperceptibly and she said, ‘Right after breakfast,’ and had to suppress her telltale smile of joy. The future had never been so full of possibilities.
He was waiting for her in the hall when she came downstairs with her pack. It felt deliciously comfortable to be in her own clothes again: her well-worn denim shirt and jeans. Simona’s green twinset and sensible skirt had been folded and left on the bed.
‘I’m sorry I took so long,’ she said to him. ‘I couldn’t find my plaid shirt anywhere, but never mind.’
Mario touched her sleeve gently. ‘You should have proper woman clothes,’ he said. ‘Now we go.’
‘Francesca and Simona are coming down in a minute. And I have to say thank you to Francesca’s mother. Do you know where she is?’
‘Right here,’ came a voice from behind her as Signora Bertoni emerged from the dining room. She looked stooped and old; her make-up, always so carefully applied, seemed to belong on a different face altogether. ‘Are you really leaving, Kate?’ she asked. ‘Well, that’s a shame… I hate to see you go.’ She was frowning as she spoke, still tugging at the skin on the side of her face in that nervous gesture. ‘I thought maybe I could show you round the place a bit… there’s such a lot you haven’t seen yet. And we’ve hardly had a chance to get to know each other. But you’re going now… well, maybe that’s all for the best. Maybe it will all work out after all. I really don’t know…’
Kate stared at her. Francesca’s mother appeared to be unravelling in front of her eyes. She said, ‘Are you okay, Signora Bertoni?’
The older woman stretched her magenta lips back into what was more a grimace than a smile. ‘Why, how very thoughtful you are, Kate Holland.’ She frowned and looked away, plucking a thread of cotton off her sleeve. ‘Well, I guess that’s just how it is,’ she said, more to herself than anyone else. ‘I’ll go talk to Zio Toni. He’ll see sense, maybe. He’s not such a bad man. And he’s fond of Simona. That’s it, I’ll take her with me. She’s a cute child in her way. So you see, there’s a chance, there’s always a chance.’ She looked at Kate again, raking her face with eyes that were small pits of misery. ‘Off you go then, Kate, before… before…’ Her voice trailed into silence.
Kate glanced at Mario. He was a doctor and would know if it was all right to leave Signora Bertoni like this, but he was looking at the woman with an odd little smile on his face. ‘That’s right, Annette,’ he said and it was the first time Kate had heard him call Francesca’s mother by her Christian name. ‘Kate and I are leaving now. Is last time for us at Villa Beatrice.’
There was a commotion upstairs, the sound of doors banging and footsteps pounding along the landing. ‘Wait!’ yelled Francesca. ‘Wait for us!’ She had Simona by the wrist and was carrying two small packs as the sisters hurtled down the stairs together.
Kate, seeing how Simona was dressed, said, ‘My plaid shirt!’
Signora Bertoni turned to them with horror. ‘What’s going on? What do you think you’re doing dressed like that?’
Francesca regarded her mother in triumph. ‘We’re going with Mario and Kate,’ she said.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ snapped Signora Bertoni. In an instant her abstracted mood had vanished and she was bristling for a fight. ‘I never heard anything so outrageous in my life. Get right back upstairs and change, both of you!’
‘No, Mamma! I told you, we’re leaving. We’re going to Florence and you can’t stop us.’
‘We’ll just see about that. Simona, come here right now!’
Francesca kept hold of her sister’s hand. ‘Don’t pay any attention, Simona. She can’t force you.’ But Simona’s eyes widened with terror as Signora Bertoni strode towards her and grabbed her by the arm.
‘You go, then, Francesca,’ said her mother. ‘Get out of this house and never come back, but Simona stays right here.’
‘No!’
‘Simona, go change at once. We’re going up to see Zio Toni.’
‘No!’ yelled Francesca. ‘I won’t let you!’
Jagged with rage, Signora Bertoni let go of Simona, raised her hand and struck her elder daughter hard across the face with the flat of her palm. Francesca’s head swung away from the blow. ‘And how—’ She struck her again—‘just how are you going to stop me?’
‘Mamma, stop it!’ Simona wailed as Francesca reeled backwards. ‘Stop it, stop it, stop it! You’re always blaming her, but I’m the one who wants to go.’
Kate had run to Francesca’s side and put her arms round her. Livid red bars were already striping her cheeks and she was panting with shock. ‘It’s okay, Francesca,’ said Kate. ‘You’re coming with us.’
‘Simona…’ she gasped.
‘Of course,’ said Kate. ‘Simona comes too.’
Mario had been watching in horror. He spoke to Signora Bertoni in Italian and reached out to take Simona gently by the hand. She put herself behind him, a protecting shield. Now four were ranged against one: Signora Bertoni fell back as though beaten. Safe behind Mario, Simona was weeping quietly.
‘Are you sure you want to come with us?’ Kate asked her gently.
She nodded. ‘Quite sure.’
‘Then let’s go.’
They picked up their bags in silence. Kate still had her arm round Francesca and Simona was leaning on Mario as they headed towards the door. Just as they stepped out into the fresh air, Signora Bertoni’s voice came after them: ‘Simona, I won’t let you go.’
‘You can’t stop her, Mamma,’ said Francesca, her voice almost tender now that her mother had been defeated.
‘Who will take care of my baby?’ asked Signora Bertoni in anguish. ‘She’s just a child.’
‘She’s a woman, Mamma,’ said Francesca. ‘I’ll look after her. And so will my friends.’
Signora Bertoni followed them out into the sunshine. Suddenly her voice was sharp as a razor. ‘And which friends would those be, Francesca?’
‘Mario and Kate,’ she answered calmly. ‘And the others you haven’t met. Believe me, Mamma, Simona will be fine with us.’
‘Oh really?’ Something in the way Signora Bertoni asked the question made Kate turn to look at her and what she saw there, some spark of hope and triumph, made her suddenly fearful. ‘Just tell me one thing, Francesca,’ the woman said, each word diamond precise, ‘does Mario fuck all these so-called friends of yours, or is it just Kate?’
‘Mamma, don’t be disgusting,’ said Francesca. She was shaking, but nothing was going to stop her now. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here before she comes up with any more lies. I can’t stand much more of this.’
‘Disgusting, am I? Why don’t you ask them?’
‘There’s no need. I know they wouldn’t…’ Francesca looked from Kate to Mario and back again. Slowly the smile faded from her face and she withdrew the arm that Kate had been holding. ‘But… Kate, tell me she’s lying,’ she said in a low voice.
‘Francesca, please, Mario said that you and he were finished—’
‘Oh!’ Francesca doubled over in pain as though she’d been punched in the stomach, a far worse blow than any her mother had delivered. ‘No,’ she was gasping. ‘No, no!’
‘God, Francesca, I’m so sorry, but I never meant…’ Kate moved towards her.
‘Stay away from me!’ said Francesca, and Kate hung back helplessly. Simona escaped from Mario and went across to comfort her sister. Now Signora Bertoni had both her daughters beside her and she stood in front of them.
‘Get out of here!’ she said to Kate. ‘Get out of here, both of you.’
‘No,’ said Kate. ‘I’m not leaving like this. Francesca, please, you have to listen to me.’ Francesca turned away from her with a sob of grief and rage.
Simona said, ‘Francesca, please, let’s go.’
‘Simona, no!’ said Signora Bertoni.
Mario said quietly, ‘Come, Kate. Is better we leave now.’
‘But how can we? We can’t just walk away. We can’t—’
‘Listen to me, young lady,’ said Signora Bertoni to Kate as she stood like a guardsman over her two daughters, ‘you’re lucky I didn’t do it last night, but I swear to God, if you don’t get into that car right now and drive away from here and never come back, I’ll kill you with my own bare hands!’
For a moment Kate almost believed her threat, there was such hatred on her face.
‘We go now,’ said Mario, guiding her down the steps to his little car. ‘Before worse things—’
‘But we can’t!’
Almost roughly, he pushed her into the car. ‘This is a bad place,’ he said, glancing back towards the house. ‘Bad place for us.’
Just as he’d got into the driver’s seat and switched on the ignition, there was a scream from the house. Simona had broken away from her mother and was running down the steps towards them.
‘Mario, wait!’ yelled Kate.
‘No!’ he said and the Topolino sped off down the drive, its tyres churning through the dry surface of the road, so that when Kate twisted round to see what was happening behind them, all she could make out were anonymous shapes moving eerily through a column of white dust.